Walls and Hollows
by kfb28
Summary: A sequel to "Up in the Woods", Sandor returns to Winterfell and Sansa. SanSan, Jon/Daenrys, Arya/Gendry, Stark Warg theory, Robb/Jon friendship. Start the rating as T, may go up in later chapters.
1. Chapter 1

Author's Note: This is a multi-chaptered sequel to my SanSan oneshot, "Up in the Woods". I wanted to properly resolve the story line, as well as respond to reviewers who wanted more of the story. Once again, capitlization is played with in this story in homage to Arundhati Roy's "The God of Small Things", and GRR Martin owns all the content of this story. Please read "Up in the Woods" first, so that you know what is going on in the plot. This story takes place seven months after the ending of my one-shot.

Reviews are love :)

Sansa

Sansa thought it was merciful of the Gods to blur that night in her head. She barely remembered anything, other than Jon's tears and Stranger's hot breath, and the branches grabbing at her hair and clothes, the earthy smell of the forest. She couldn't say the same for the last seven months, which mocked her with the joy they brought others.

Daenerys wed Jon in a small ceremony, with less than one hundred present. The people of Westeros loved her for that, and even more when she said all were exempt from taxes for the year. Sansa gave her credit for understanding how to contrast herself against the opulence of the Lannisters. Sansa watched as Daenerys' belly stretched bigger and bigger, feeling even lonelier than usual. She may no longer be Hollow, but she still stayed in her own head. She didn't understand it- the people she ought to reach out to, held no appeal to her. Except when the nightmares came.

She would hear screams in her sleep, and would scream out, waking the whole keep. She would wake up sweating, panting as Jon shook her awake, and Grey Wind nudging her with his muzzle, worriedly. Sansa could never explain the Fear of the dreams, she only knew it was there. The screams were horrid, tortured and rasping, and so shrill. She couldn't cover her ears, nor could she run away- no Walls or Hollow to save her then.

Jon would stay with her until she was able to fall asleep again, although he almost always ended up snoring beside her, across the huge mattress, Grey Wind and Ghost between them. If Daenerys minded, she never hinted at it, which made Sansa feel even worse. Like she was a Burden.

Today was no exception, as she woke to an eyeful of white fur, and Ghost's hot breath in her face. She heard Grey Wind whine in his sleep, and Jon snoring loudly. The sun hadn't yet risen into the sky, but she rose anyway, her woolen slip scratching her skin. Sansa crept out of her room, onto her balcony, and sat down, looking at the sky. The cold wind was abrasive, but comforting. At least she could still feel something, even after everything she had been through.

Grey Wind padded outside, to curl up next to her. She was happy to share the Warmth, and ran her hand through the shaggy grey tufts of fur. She relaxed her back against the stone of the Wall, and sighed, closing her eyes.

Jon

He had risen in Sansa's room, after a particularly rough night. She had been screaming as if her skin was on fire, twisting around on her bed as if she was being tortured. He had struggled to wake her, and only Daenerys had remained calm, as Ghost started howling, and Grey Wind, or Robb, pawed and licked her frantically. Daenerys cupped her cheek gently, cooing like a mother to her child, and Sansa awoke.

Jon cried in frustration, as Daenerys squeezed his shoulder in support. She didn't mind him staying in Sansa's room, because frankly she was getting bigger and found it more comfortable sleeping alone, as well as being insightful enough to understand that Jon needed to feel like he was protecting Sansa, despite knowing he couldn't reach into her head and save Sansa from herself.

Jon entered his bed chamber, and lay beside his wife. Daenerys was already awake and waiting in bed. She gently ran a thumb over his brow, as he mulled over the past seven months.

"Why is she so sad?" asked Jon, finally breaking the silence.

"She just came back from seeing the horrors of Westeros. She was married several times, battered by a Prince and forced to change her identity. She watched her father's head come off, and saw a city starve. She needs to talk, but can't." Daenerys sighed, knowing that Jon didn't want to hear that answer again. Daenerys kissed his forehead, trying to make him feel better.

"What would Robb do?" asked Jon, and Daenerys snorted.

"The same thing you are doing." Daenerys cupped his cheek, running a thumb over his cheek bone. Jon twitched his mouth, but otherwise, said nothing.

"On a not entirely unrelated subject, what are we going to do about Karhold and Dreadfort?" she waited as Jon groaned again, and then continued, "We could raise new, loyal lords there. I think I know the perfect candidates, too."

Jon placed his large hand over her enlarged stomach, which held their baby. He bit his lip pensively, and looked up at her.

"Who should replace the Karstarks and Boltons?" he inquired, sitting up across from her.

"I think it should be Gendry, the Usurper's bastard, and Sandor Clegane. They won't act against us, if solely for the sake of Arya and Sansa, and when the time is ripe, offer them Arya and Sansa's hands." Daenerys smiled at him, as Jon snorted.

"It is clear you have thought about this for a long time, but I don't think either of them desire to be lords. Nor do I know if they can be lords. It's a huge responsibility, to ask of a black smith and a mercenary."

"Well, if a bastard, formerly of the Night's Watch can take a Queen for a wife.."

"But that is different!" Jon interrupted, even though he had realized long ago that she was telling him, not asking him, to make Gendry and Sandor Lords of Dreadfort and Karstark.

"Ask them anyway," she whispered teasingly, smiling as Jon pursed his lips in agreement to her terms. Jon resigned himself to his fate, and got dressed, to face the rest of the day.

Sandor

He couldn't believe it, but he was almost happy to be back in the frozen hell of the North. He saw Winterfell up ahead, growing closer as his party travelled further up the Kings Road. Jaime Lannister whistled under his breath, as Brienne Tarth shot Tyrion an annoyed look. The dwarf had spent the entire trip pointing out every bloody landmark he could, irking everyone, all day, every day. Sandor would be glad to rid himself of the deformed cretin, but Jaime had helped him find Gregor, so Sandor supposed it was the least he could do, to tolerate the Imp.

Sandor was nervous to return to Winterfell, and see how Stupid Little Bird and Skinny Wolf Brat were, even though he wouldn't admit it to anyone. He wondered if Sansa was happy, and if Arya had come up with some creative plan to kill him in his sleep. He even wondered if Jon's baby had been born. Of course, most of Sandor's good mood was owed to the fact that he had killed his brother, the Monster that Rides. His companions took note of his change in attitude, though none of them commented.

Up ahead, he heard the portcullis rise as Winterfell waited for their return. They were almost upon the rebuilt fortress, and Sandor could make out who was ahead waiting for them. Jon Snow, _King_ now, Daenerys, Daenerys' Dothraki and Unsullied, and three members of the Night's Watch, whom he had met before- Grenn, Pyp and Samwell. Sandor even cracked a smile as he spotted Gendry, who he actually really liked, and Hot Pie, the idiot baker, who despite his non-existent intellect, was too much of a buggering oaf to dislike.

Sandor saw Rickon, Robert and Eddard running around the courtyard, squealing as the direwolves loped around them lazily. Sandor snorted, deciding that the world must be ending for him to be thinking such pleasant things about the people around him. Although, he was a tad sore that Sansa wasn't waiting to greet him. However, he could understand if she never wanted to see his face again, since he had left her screaming in a forest.

Sandor turned his head to the King and Queen before him, and bowed his head.

"Hello, Sandor, and welcome back to Winterfell." Jon looked up at him, a faint smile playing across the young man's lips.


	2. Chapter 2

Author's notes: Thank you for the awesome reviews and response to the story! It means a lot :) This chapter is a downer though, but I promise it will get happier. Reviews are love :)

Jon

He was sitting at the front of the Great Hall, looking down upon his guests. Sandor stood there, a smile playing across his lips- even the burnt part looked human. The Lannisters were before him now, Jaime casually standing beside his dwarf brother. Daenerys sat beside him, and he could sense her interest in the new comers, particularly Tyrion. They were the last of the Lannisters of Casterley Rock, and Jon felt a quiet pang inside his heart. _At least the Starks weren't the only ones decimated_, he thought bitterly. The Maid of Tarth was beside Jaime, holding a sword identical to Ice, or at least, what Ice had melted into.

Ghost sat in front of his feet, equally sizing up their guests. Jon cleared his throat, and decided to begin what was sure to be a sufficiently awkward conversation.

"Greetings." Jon inwardly cringed at his phrasing, but Jaime stepped forward, taking the sword from Brienne.

"I brought back Oathbreaker's brother. It didn't seem right, to leave it with Joff…" Jaime turned away towards the end of the sentence, to hide tears or resentment, Jon didn't know. Or care.

"Thank you for bringing Ice back, albeit in two parts. I trust Gregor has been slain?" he asked tentatively, and Sandor snarled.

"I made sure he was put in the ground this time." Sandor looked put-off, a change from his earlier happiness, but Jon paid no mind. He turned to Daenerys, and bowed his head. She nodded, and turned to Tyrion.

"Lord Tyrion of Casterley Rock, have you come to swear fealty to the House Targeryen?", although it was apparent that she wasn't asking a question. Tyrion limped closer, and kneeled before her. She smiled, nodded, but never said a word.

Tyrion rose again, and stood beside his brother, who was lazily looking around the Hall. Jon was about to address Sandor once again, opening his mouth do so, when there was a loud crash, and equally loud swearing, with some muffled pleas for rationale mixed in.

Sansa and Arya were fighting, and Jon groaned as they were shoved into the hall by Sam and the Maester, who were trying to separate the bickering girls. They were trying to grab at each other, shouting childhood insults with curses that made all the men present blush. The entire Hall was looking at the spectacle, and Jon heard Tyrion mutter to Jaime in awe, "I can't believe I was married to that," though Jaime replied that it was clearly a sham marriage to begin with. Daenerys apparently found the whole thing quite humorous to watch, as well as Sandor.

"ENOUGH!" Jon bellowed, standing up, and out of his seat, and the two girls froze, and looked around the hall.

"Will one of you explain to me where in the Seven buggering Hells is any of this behaviour is acceptable?" he glared at both of them. Arya looked to be debating the merits of arguing with him, while Sansa turned red and Hollowed out. Jon stared them both down, pursing his lips. He sat back down, and turned to his audience. He asked them all to excuse his sisters' behaviour, and dismissed everyone. Jon glared at his younger sisters, and stormed out of the Great Hall.

Sansa

She hadn't even remembered how the fight started, only how the Anger had taken over and that she couldn't stop. Eventually, Sam and the Maester eventually took them to the Great Hall for Jon to deal with. Jon had just stormed out, and all eyes were on them.

Arya balled her fists, and narrowed her eyes at Sansa, and Sansa could feel the hatred seething out towards her. Sansa bit her lip, and looked up at the crowd, and nearly collapsed when she saw the Imp. She hadn't seen him since the annulment, and was surprised he would _voluntarily_ come to Winterfell, let alone see her and her family. He bowed to her, awkwardly, and she only blinked. She had seen him naked, and had rejected him. Now, here he was before her. Nothing stirred within her, no love, no anger, no Anything.

She averted her eyes down to the floor, and thankfully, everyone finally began to leave. Tyrion waddled out with his brother and the Maid of Tarth, Arya and Gendry, the three Night's Watchmen, the Maester, Daenerys and her bloodriders. She looked up, and saw Sandor.

She felt her head throb, and a twitchy, uncomfortable feeling in her stomach. She didn't even try to avert her eyes from him. He looked at her, and bowed his head, striding out of the room past her. She didn't feel her hand shoot out to grab his arm. She heard him inhale quickly, and look at her strangely. She turned to him, as he stood beside her, frozen mid-stride.

"Why did you leave me?" she asked flatly, and he groaned.

"Believe it or not, you aren't the centre of my life."

"You aren't supposed to leave the people you love."

"Have I ever promised such things to you?" Sandor asked, though Sansa didn't understand if he was just being aloof or not.

"Now you are avoiding the question." She looked back at him, and he tightened his jaw. He pulled his arm back from her.

"I left you," he pulled himself to his full height, and loomed over her, "because there are some things I need to do in life. I left you, because there are things you don't need to see. I left you, because I needed to make sure Gregor ended up in a hole, buried, where he belongs. Don't you remember how I became such a looker?"

When he was finished, he turned to leave again, and Sansa decided she couldn't have that.

"Why are you so mean?" She understood how much she would regret provoking his response, but she couldn't stop herself. There was no Hollow to run to, no Wall to hide behind, nothing but Sandor. Nothing but the memory of the forest, and her destroyed family, and Sandor galloping away.

He just turned to face her, unblinking. She started to fill the pause that had settled between him.

"I know you just want someone to care about you, and that you aren't as scary as you try to be, but why do you keep pushing me away. I just don't understand. Do you know what I have been doing for the last seven months?" he shook his head, and she felt strangely euphoric that he was still listening to her.

"The Evil still came for me, in my sleep- and I would be so scared, and there was no one to save me." She closed the space between them, and he looked down at her. His lip twitched.

"Maybe you should learn to save yourself than." She knew he wasn't looking at her, but his words cut deep. She looked down at her feet, and started crying, and muttered something about a Knight.

Sandor

He heard that one word, Knight, and promptly lost all interest in the conversation. He felt his face flush, and every muscle tense. Of course, Stupid Little Bird wanted him to be a flaming Knight. He looked down at the blubbering girl, who had asked him questions about himself that he was too afraid to answer.

He turned around, said, "Do I look like a buggering Knight?" and strode off. He heard Sansa break down, again, and silently kicked himself. He kept walking. He knew she was right in what she said about him, and he knew she was wrong to doubt herself.

He didn't want to save her all the time. He didn't want her to need saving, he wanted her to start being. He wanted her to forget this stupid business with him, and this stupid notion of their… their whatever it was.

Sansa

She was curled in a ball again, and crying, quiet, silent tears. Her hands were over her head, and she didn't know when Sandor left, or when Daenerys found her, but she felt small, hot hands push her hands from her face, and stroke her wet cheeks. Sansa felt one of the Dothraki pick her up, and take her to Daenerys' chambers. Sansa was still crying, as the two Dothraki maids stripped her, and put her in a hot bath. She felt the scalding water, wondering if it would scald the memory of what had happened in the Great Hall.

His rejection hurt, more than anything she had ever endured. She was still crying, when she was lifted out, and put in new clothes. She was still crying, when Jon came in, demanding answers. And she was still crying when she was given milk of the poppy. Then, she fell into a sweet, dreamless, Monster-less, scream-less hole.


	3. Chapter 3

Author's note:

Thanks for all the reviews, I doubled the length of this chapter to make up for its lateness. PLEASE review, I want to see if people notice any of the deconstructung I do of the series, and if people like it, of course :) Also, if I know what people like the story, it can only get better. Feel free to suggest plot events, or if there is anything you feel strongly should happen.

Jon

Sansa was still asleep- she hadn't Thrown a Fit the entire night, and now it was dawn. Jon hadn't slept, fretting over what he was to say when she woke up. He thought of how awful he had been to both her and Arya, yelling at them for a reason which in Hindsight, meant Nothing.

Grey Wind and Ghost were lying on either side of her, and Jon had just begun to drift off, when he heard a soft knock at the door. He blinked, and said, "Come in."

Daenerys glided into the room, and stood beside him.

"You haven't slept."

"I suppose."

"You know this isn't it your fault," she fingered his hair. He sighed, and looked up at Daenerys.

"Are you sure?" he looked at his heavily pregnant wife, and blinked a few times. She nodded, and smiled. He looked back down at his feet, biting his lip nervously. Jon tried to put back the nagging feeling that if Robb were King, none of this would be happening. Jon could go back to being the worthless Bastard, his sisters and brothers could be a Family and Nothing would have to Change.

"Sansa has had a rough couple years, she just needs Time." Daenerys began to rub his shoulders a bit, and Jon looked up at her again.

"Why was Sansa crying last night?" he asked, knowing she had been the one to find his sister. Daenerys quirked her lip weirdly, and looked down at him.

"I think she and Sandor had a… disagreement." Jon sensed her hesitancy to answer his question. He wondered how he would react now. Throw Sandor out of Winterfell? Put him to the gallows? Jon pursed his lips, and looked up at Daenerys.

"Why do you think they should marry?" Jon gazed at his small wife smiled demurely.

"I think it's rather simple, actually. He is known for being this big brute, who takes what he wants, when he wants, and yet have you ever seen him mistreat Sansa? Threaten her, swear at her, even snap? Then there is Sansa, that lovely, shallow flower. She can be so lacking in compassion. But do you see her spitting on Clegane? Making him feel like a worthless deformity inflicted on humanity? I think they make each other human. That is why they should be married."

Jon looked up at her, looking vexed.

"Clearly your views on what a happy union is, are warped. Every time they talk, it ends in breakdowns." Daenerys snorted, as Jon stood up.

"That's only because he is hopelessly resistant." Jon snorted, deciding not to respond.

"I should go out and find Clegane, anyway. We have Dreadfort to discuss." Jon smiled at Daenerys, and offered a bent arm, "would you like me to accompany you back to your chambers?"

She giggled, and put her smaller arm in his.

"Yes, my _King_." She stuck her tongue out, and led the way.

Sandor

Sandor's head felt heavy, as he inclined his face to the window of his chamber. He was surprised that he wasn't all that hung over, but, on the other hand, the North was just West of Bum Fuck, Nowhere so it was obvious there weren't any Arbor vintages lying about. He was also shocked to not have fallen asleep in some shady stairwell, but he supposed that was a small mercy. He stretched out, and his face contorted slightly as he did so. He then inhaled deeply, and got up. Sandor crossed his room to look in the mirror, not that he had gotten any prettier, but to see if he was Decent.

Sometimes he wondered how strong the Wall was between Sandor and the Hound, and how long it would hold. He would also contemplate if Gregor and the Monster were one or two, but he didn't see the point in that anymore, now that Gregor was six-feet under. Sandor looked into the mirror, and searched his face for some clue of what he had seen at the Cleganes' Keep. He squinted, wondering if he saw a trace of the horror, but he doubted it- little could still make him squirm.

He turned when he heard the _knock_, and went to open the heavy oak door. He didn't say anything to the King, but bowed his head. Jon nodded tersely, and entered the Spartan chamber. Sandor figured that Jon's time at the Wall had gotten him used to utilitarian set ups, and turned to him.

"We have affairs to discuss." Clegane _hrrumphed_, and wondered if he should comment on the interruption to his beauty sleep but decided against it.

"I need to replace the Boltons at Dreadfort, and I was wondering if you would have any remote interest."

"The name suits, I suppose." Sandor didn't quite know how he felt about the offer, and decided to be as unexpressive as possible. Not that he was very emotive anyway.

"You have nothing else to say?" asked Jon, who didn't look all that surprised but Sandor appreciated the feigned shock.

"Have I ever shown any interest in this barren wasteland?" he kept his voice flat and annoyed, but Jon shrugged.

"I hear it's quite fertile, but I am no Septa, nor a woman working the fields, so what do I know?" the King raised an eyebrow, and Sandor caught the double meaning immediately.

"You want to know if I will marry Sansa."

"And if you will take Dreadfort, but yes, that too." Jon studied the huge man, and Sandor didn't like the scrutiny.

"I don't think I can," whispered Clegane, who looked down. Jon tilted his head, and spoke again.

"Is this about what happened at the Keep?" and Sandor nearly swore. Of course Jaime had told the bloody King, and of _fucking_ course Jon was right. Sandor tightened his jaw, and Jon sat down on the lumpy mattress.

Sandor squeezed his eyes shut, trying to prevent the re-surfacing of the memory though it had never left the periphery of his thoughts. The bodies hung, in a neat row along the wall. They were beaten beyond recognition, but Sandor would have to be blinded to be unable to recognize his old maester, the only person who had stayed up with him after the burns. When his brother had become Lord Clegane, the maester had found him a home with the Lannisters.

Sandor bit his lip, when he remembered the women. His brother hadn't offered them a quick death, and left their broken corpses everywhere. The stench of blood filled the Hound's nostrils, so he lunged towards the Monster, and better prevailed over worse. Sandor took note of the better versus worse- not good versus evil, because nothing is certain, nothing is simple. Nothing is like how Stupid Little Bird wants it. However, he had always thought that he could ensure she married the Knight of her dreams, even though it felt like a rusted knife in his gut when another looked at her, and she looked back.

He didn't deserve her. His hands were dirty with blood, blood that had caked on there so thick that cleaning it off would take more than a confession to the Bloody Mother or the Bloody Warrior. Sandor wanted to ensure some sort of justice, that's what he told himself when he Ran Away not once, but twice, from Stupid Little Bird. Justice meant a handsome Knight, and Sandor wasn't even faintly attractive, nor a Knight.

After a long pause, he looked at Jon, and uttered, "No." Jon looked at the hulking man, and blinked.

"Why not?" asked Jon, and Sandor inhaled deeply to prevent himself from cursing the King back to wherever the Buggering Seven Hells he came from.

"I don't think I am worthy."

"Don't tell me you hadn't ever thought of it." Jon made eye contact, and Sandor winced.

"So? Just because I imagine it, won't make it real." Sandor looked at the smaller man, barely out of boyhood, really, but was the husband of a Queen, brother of Ladies, Lords, Guards, Wolves. Sandor couldn't fathom how he would feel if he was suddenly showered with love, let alone the Bastard who didn't have any legal rights.

"I think she loves you," replied his King.

"But do you know?" countered Sandor. Jon's eyes clouded over, to some faraway place.

"You would know if you bothered to try to see it. However, I suppose you can only be certain about how you feel." Jon breathed in, and turned away.

Sandor's mouth twitched, and he looked down, and saw the boy behind the Man.

"You miss your brother, don't you?" Sandor sat down next to the youth, and Jon turned to him.

"You don't miss yours, do you?" Jon gave a cynical glare.

"You were only legally alienated from Rob, which is nothing, really. I was completely alienated from my brother, which is everything." Sandor grabbed the wineskin on his bed, and took a sip.

"You still have a hole than, from where Gregor was?" Jon looked nervous to ask, and Clegane understood. He nodded, and Jon's mouth twitched in thanks.

"I know you love Sansa, and I know she loves you. She used to be such a stuck up _bitch_, you know, thinking she was better because she was high born and beautiful. You were such a fucking _brute_ too, with your pent up rage and shit. But it's all different now, and I believe it because you make each other just a little more human, and just a little more… nice, I guess. You just make her so happy, even though lately you have done the opposite." Jon looked at Sandor, who was deep in thought. Sandor saw Jon get up to leave, and as the King opened the door, Sandor spoke up:

"That's because all I have been doing lately is leaving."

Jon turned, and smiled, "So is that a maybe?" and Sandor snorted.

"_That's_ an, I'll-think-about-it."

"So, you will talk to her, right?" and Jon smiled as Sandor groaned at the trap.

"Yes, I will." Jon left, and Sandor thudded back down onto the bed, and massaged his temples. He wasn't looking forward to _that_ conversation.

Sansa

Sansa had woken up late that morning between Grey Wind and Ghost, warm from the shared body heat. She sat up, and looked at the huge direwolves around her. She smiled, and got up, feeling light for the first time in years. She was surprised, she wasn't looking over her shoulder for monsters anymore, and the world didn't seem like such a treacherous place either. She walked over to her window, and stuck her head out to see the falling summer snow.

Her day refused to stop getting better, as she went downstairs for breakfast. She smiled at the visiting Night's watchmen, her nephews and brothers, who were out in the yard. She entered the Great Hall, and sat next to Arya, smiling at her sister. Arya had certainly become pretty, her face becoming angular, her features more defined. Her hair had grown out, and Sansa had to admit that her younger sister looked better in a hunter green tunic than Sansa ever would.

Arya was sitting with Gendry, and Sansa hadn't paid him much notice until then. He was clearly King Robert's son- he was built similar to how she imagined Sandor was, if Sandor didn't walk around in chainmail and plate all the time. Gendry was also quite handsome, with striking blue eyes and a chiseled jaw. Sansa found it funny that Arya didn't seem to notice the way the young man's eyes softly glowed when she was near, but Sansa also knew it wasn't her place to tell Arya.

Arya ignored Sansa as she ate her porridge, and glared at Gendry when he attempted polite conversation. Sansa wondered if it was Arya's feelings for her, or Arya's feelings for Gendry which provoked the rebukes.

"Arya, would you like to spend some time with me today?" asked Sansa, who nervously tucked a lock of hair behind her ear. Gendry's eyes flicked nervously to Arya, Sansa understanding that he remembered the fight.

"What would you like to do? Call me a horse face? Or maybe you would like to pull some of my hair first?" Arya's tone was sardonic, and Sansa pouted.

"I just want to spend some time with you." Sansa's eyes went wide, and Arya twisted her mouth unpleasantly. Gendry tensed across from them, clearly prepared to break up another fight. Arya finally sighed, and turned to Sansa.

"Meet me at the stables in two hours. Be prepared to ride, long and hard. Daenerys gave us each new palfreys this morning, and since you were sleeping, I got the black mare. Your mare is chestnut." Arya looked indifferent, as Sansa's eyes widened.

"But what about Charles?" asked Sansa, referring to the ugly bay gelding that Sandor had given her as a mount to get back to Winterfell. Sandor had found her attachment to Charles as amusing as the name Sansa had bestowed upon the plow horse, but even he had affectionately referred to the animal as Charlie. Sansa knew the Dothraki ate horse, and she was genuinely fearful for the old sod.

"Robb and Eddy like riding him, so no harm will come to Charles." Arya looked as Sansa grinned happily, and then Arya smiled tentatively at her sister. Gendry beamed as well, relieved to have avoided a fight.

Soon, Arya and Gendry left the Great Hall, and Sansa had just gotten up, when she say a flicker from the corner of her eye. Sandor then stood before her, looking as passive as usual. Sansa ignored him, putting her cloak on, until Clegane cleared his throat in impatience.

"What do you want?" asked Sansa, rudely. The big man's mouth twitched, in amusement or annoyance, Sansa could never be sure.

"Well, I decided to be in your lovely company today." Sansa glared at him.

"Yes, that's right. Have you come to remind me how much you hate me again?" asked Sansa, hot tears forming under the surface of her eyelids. She couldn't stop the rush of emotion, even though she didn't like it.

"I never said I hated you." Sandor sighed, and his hand moved. Sansa momentarily wondered if he was going to cup her cheek, but pushed the thought away.

"Well, you said you didn't love me." Sansa replied, trying to stay strong.

"I simply stated that I never told you of such… affections." Sandor chose his words carefully, and if it had been any other day, Sansa would left it at that, but she decided Today wasn't any other day. She drew herself to her full height, and looked up at Clegane.

"If they exist, why not make them known?" She narrowed her eyes, and Sandor groaned.

"And how _pray tell_, should I make them _known_?" asked the impatient man, and Sansa resisted the urge to poke fun at his temper.

"Oh, I don't know. You could show some sort of physical affection…"

"No," answered Sandor flatly, failing to mask his rising panic. Sansa picked up on this, and smirked, satisfied that she had where she wanted him- caught between who he wants, and who he fancies himself to be. Sansa wondered if he had never kissed anyone- she felt sorry for him, if that was the case. However, she could always fix that situation.

"Are you a liar?" she flirted, stepping closer to him, marvelling as he squirmed. He didn't move, but shifted his weight uncomfortably to his heels.

"No," he looked like his resolve was weakening a bit, but he made no move towards her.

"Why don't you prove it, than. Take the opportunity." She was right up to his face now, Gods knowing she had wanted this so long. But than she looked up, and saw the Terror in his eyes. He looked scared, and suddenly, the wickedness was gone from her. It was replaced with love, and compassion, and just wanting to kiss his fears away.

Sandor remained frozen, as she stood up on her tip toes, and kissed his scarred flesh. He was looking down, as she apologetically held his hand.

"It's okay… I shouldn't have acted like such a bitch… I … I know you aren't ready. Please, just come find me when you are." Sansa turned around, and left the Great Hall, wondering if he would ever be ready.


	4. Chapter 4

Author's Note: Sorry this chapter took a long time- school has been loading me with work. Anyway, I took most of the suggestions from reviews, they were amazingly helpful. I would love to continue to have your input- this story is all for you! Reviews are love!

Sansa

Sansa had missed the North more than she had originally thought, that she was certain of. The rolling hills, jutting rock and green forests of her childhood hadn't been destroyed by the other High Lords. Arya hadn't said anything the entire ride, and Sansa couldn't decide if that was a good or bad thing. They had finally stopped at the top of the biggest hill by Winterfell, and looked down upon the rebuilt fortress. Its Walls were even taller than those at the Red Keep, and stronger than the Eyrie. The girls looked down upon their home, and then Arya started the conversation.

"Do you ever wonder, why us?" asked Arya, and Sansa turned to her sister. Sansa looked away when Arya tried to make eye contact. She had been asking herself that question since their father had been executed.

"I don't suppose there is a point..."

"In what?" interjected Arya, cutting off Sansa's reply.

"What has happened doesn't matter now. We are still the Starks, we have the North and each other." Sansa looked over at Arya, and bit her lip. Arya scanned the hills darkly, her brow wrinkling from intent concentration, similar to their late father.

"You know, Jon offered Karhold to Gendry." Arya looked at Sansa, who wasn't very surprised. She knew they needed to keep their friends close, and that the Karstarks had proven themselves untrustworthy- she could only imagine how they felt under the aerial assault of Daenerys, and the cavalry swamping the immediate area.

"It makes sense- Gendry is Robert Baratheon's bastard, same as how Jon is our father's." Sansa looked at Arya, who was now biting her lip.

"Gendry is a fool." Arya met Sansa's gaze, and Sansa saw where the conversation was going.

"Are you trying to tell me something that Jon ought to know?" asked Sansa, as she examined her sister's blushing face.

"Jon offered my hand to Gendry… but I… I don't know if I can."

"Why wouldn't you be able to? You are always together, and people have been talking…"

"Well they're all liars. Every last one of them, a liar." Arya's grey eyes were burning, and Sansa's stomach did flips when she remembered Sandor saying those same words to her.

"Did you and Gendry…" Sansa's voice faded, as the question hung between them, and Sansa remembered Lysa's confession as she was by the Moon Door. Arya was looking over Winterfell, and nodded.

"I had come to Riverrun, to see if Uncle Edmure or Great Uncle Brynden would know I was the true Arya Stark, not Jeyne. I had found Nymeria then, and I had Needle as well. But I was still so alone. I was given a chamber, and then suddenly Gendry was there, and we hear of victory in the North, and we went to Home… I am so stupid, Sansa, I shouldn't, but I did, how can I get married now?"

Sansa looked at her sister softly, and understood what she needed to hear.

"Gendry knows you aren't a Maiden. I don't think he cares, I think he only wants you." Arya didn't look at her sister, and continued, "Technically, you are already his wife in all but name. Jon will probably legitimize him, and he will become Gendry Baratheon of Karhold, not Gendry Waters the Bastard."

"I will be Arya Baratheon." Arya hid her smile, and Sansa laughed quietly. Arya turned to her, puzzled. Sansa caught the look and explained.

"I remember the time I wanted to be Sansa Baratheon. But Gendry is an actual Baratheon, not an inbred Lannister." Arya smiled, and said: "Tyrion never made you a Lannister, anyway."

Sansa smiled, and nudged her palfrey on, wanting to go back to Winterfell. Arya followed her, and Nymeria dashed out of the woods to join them.

Jon

Jon couldn't remember when he last had deal with someone as difficult as Cersei Lannister, but he couldn't think of one. He had kept her in the restored dungeons, though Tommen had a chamber of his own. Now, Daenerys was trying to see how much Tyrion and Jaime would give to have their Beloved Sister back, and he could see the negotiation was going nowhere, quickly.

"We all know that the only safe place for my sister to be is in the Rock." Tyrion repeated, and Jaime nodded. Jon wondered how Jaime had come to feel this way about Cersei, although from the past few months of hell, he could empathize. The Lannisters only wanted Tommen, but Daenerys seemed to believe in the mythical brotherly love Tyrion felt for his sister. Jon knew it was Daenerys projecting her insecurities about Viserys onto the Imp, and decided only to intervene when the dragons would undoubtedly become involved.

"Why don't you wish to have your sister back? I am sure answering Tommen's questions about the whereabouts of his mother will be even more grueling than anything she can do." Daenerys was big with child now, ready to go into labour any day now.

"She has wanted my head since I was a babe." Tyrion snorted, and Jaime nodded, bored. Brienne stood beside him, and Jon doubted he was imagining how close she stood to the Lannister.

"I wonder why." Daenerys pursed her lips, and Jon could read the frustration.

"She single-handedly tried to poison you, use Gregor Clegane to kill Jon and told anyone who would listen that she had always wanted a dragon skin cloak. Who the in the Seven Hells would want her!" Tyrion had worked himself up into a fury by now, and Daenerys glared at him.

"She is your blood." Daenerys growled, and Tyrion looked up.

"She belongs in a cage or coffin, and frankly, a cage would be nowhere near as permanent as I would like." Tyrion crossed his puny arms, and Daenerys looked like she was going to respond, when her expression shifted. She called an immediate end to court, and hobbled out of the Great Hall.

Tyrion scowled as she walked out, clearly annoyed on her insistence that he show some love for Cersei. Jon rose, and followed Daenerys back to her chambers. She was heavily pregnant, and Jon didn't want to potentially miss the birth of his son- Sam had told him that was a typical for soon to be fathers, but that didn't stop Pyp and Grenn from making fun of him for it.

Jon than noticed that Daenerys was walking strangely, bent over slightly, and probably biting her lip. Her long silver hair cascaded down her back, the braid pointing straight to the crimson ground. Jon furrowed his brow, puzzled at the wet rust, and then looked up at Daenerys.

Sandor

He had been skulking around the Great Hall when he heard the Call. He sped to the Hall, and saw the young Queen on the ground, clutching her stomach and biting her lip. The King was beside her, patting her head, stroking her cheek. Her guards were around, shrieking for a midwife. Sandor scowled, walked briskly, and scooped the Queen up in his arms. He believed it was a fucking miracle that any of these people had survived a horrific war, and that he seemed to be the only one to know that midwives don't generally sit in the splendour of Winterfell. Jon was tittering behind him, and Sandor would have called him a moron if Jon's child wasn't being born in his arms.

Sandor pushed the heavy door open with his back, and placed Daenerys on the bed gently. It was clear that someone had already told the midwife who was coming, from the fresh bedding and clean cloth. Jeyne Poole dampened the soft fabric, and her assistant shooed the men out. Sandor remained unenthused as Jon paced. The three black brothers showed up, the fat one reading a scroll and suggesting names. The skinny one shot all the suggestions down, and the broad one remained stoic for them all.

Jon called for the assistant- Gilly, her name was- and asked how the birth was going. She told him to go away again, and Jon's brows knit together in frustration. Sandor stood by the window across from the door, finding it natural to guard the babe entering the world. Sandor mused about where Sansa was, for it was unlike her to miss these kinds of things. He looked out onto the yard, and saw Robert Arryn playing with Tommen, finding their inept swordplay amusing.

He saw Theon trying to coach the young boys, as Bran looked on. The direwolves were running about in the yard, and Gendry was in the smithy. Sandor looked at the young men, and wondered what kind of people they would grow up to be- he knew what it was like to be unwanted. Jon didn't kill Theon, for reasons no one knew- Sansa had said that Jon went into the Bolton's dungeons, found Jeyne Poole and Theon, and brought them back.

Theon looked up at Clegane, briefly, then put his head down. Robb may have loved him, but that was before the sack of Winterfell and faked deaths of Bran and Rickon. Sansa always claimed that Jon hated Theon, but Sandor never saw hatred between them though Jon never went out his way for Greyjoy.

Sandor heard Daenerys' screams, and thanked the Seven that he would never have to go through childbirth. He would never put Sansa through that kind of pain either, though it would be fine if someone else did. Sandor could only think of her as virginal, and didn't think he could think of her as anything different. Clegane supposed it made him some kind of pervert, but he knew of worse men, and Clegane would never act on his impulses, even when opportunity was handed to him on a silver platter.

Another scream tore through the silence of the Keep, and Sandor bowed his head. He even prayed to the Seven, asking for things he didn't quite understand himself.


	5. Chapter 5

**Sandor**

It made sense where he was right now. After Daenerys gave birth to a noisy son, she had made Clegane the boy's sworn shield.

Sandor Clegane's oath forbade him to take a wife, keep lands, or father children. Jon seemed apprehensive towards the idea, though Sandor preferred this job to Dreadfort. The squabbly baby even grew on him, and he liked spending time with the infant. Tommen and Robert Arryn visited the prince daily, which did not surprise the guard. They weren't as athletic as Robb, Rickon or Eddard, and were not as smart as Gilly's son Sam or Bran, but were kind. The boys brought their toys, and begged Daenerys to let them hold the prince.

When Sansa had found out about the oaths, she sought him out in the nursery. He hadn't heard the Little Bird perch on one of the sofas, but he could sense her. He turned to her, and looked at the young woman. She returned the gaze, in a wordless exchange that seemed to last for Hours. In reality, it was mere Moments.

"Never thought you would become a sworn shield again." Sansa's eyes bored two almond shaped holes into him.

"I never thought so either." Clegane felt his burned lip twitch in amusement. Sansa didn't smile.

"Jon told me about Dreadfort. And us." She sat primly on a bed, and the young prince gurgled like babies do. The silence nearly choked Clegane out.

"Are you offended?" he examined her delicate face, and was taken aback by the hard stare.

"I was trapped in King's Landing, and then in the Eyrie, for so long, I couldn't even remember who I was. You saved me, the only honest man I met in King's Landing, the knight who had come to save me. You left, but I still waited for you, for you to kill Gregor and return to me. Now, you can never be mine, and it crushes me. You are the one thing I have ever wanted, and the one thing I shan't ever have." Her eyes were wet now, and Sandor bit his lip.

He really wanted to correct her, and say it was all just a sick joke. That this was all a part of some dramatic proposal, not a concrete plan that would destroy their chance to be together.

"I love you, don't think otherwise, but..."

"But what? You love duty more than me? I don't believe that for a second." Sansa's tears were flowing down her face, as she drew herself to her full height. She was screaming at him now, and closing the gap between them.

"I think you are scared of someone wanting to be with you. I know you love me, I don't doubt it as much as you think. I just can't understand why you refuse to be with me." Her eyes were deep, blue holes, and Sandor wanted to jump in and hide himself in them. He would never do such a thing though.

"I told you all my secrets too," Sansa's quiet whispers said, "All that happened to me, after you left, the Imp, the cloak, Littlefinger, everything. Why do you treat me like this? Why did you stoop so low, trying to avoid making the choice you want." She glared up at him, and his eyes didn't move. Sandor knew what she said was true; her secrets were his, she was his, if only he would reach out and take her offer.

His thoughts drifted to the secrets of his that she wanted to know. However, they were far too horrifying for a Little Bird to cope with, or understand.

The dead servants, and family, and brother, all around him. He reeked of death, and he didn't really understand why Sansa could not sense what the other girls did.

She was crying, and he couldn't help reaching out to her, a sobbing girl, whose parents were brutally murdered, with a headless brother and wolf. His arms fit around her comfortably, until she pushed them off.

"No man who is not my husband shall touch me." Her voice was unmistakably bitter, and Sandor bit the inside of his cheek to avoid any more offenses to the girl. Her eyes accused him, before she turned around and left him in the nursery.

**Jon**

"Marry her to a Lannister." Jon looked at his young wife in shock, disbelieving what she had said.

"She was already married to the Imp, surely that's enough." Daenerys raised her eyebrow and sighed.

"A marriage is the only way to ensure the Lion and the Wolf won't come to blows for the next few generations. Gendry can have Karhold and Dreadfort, Stannis' daughter can keep the Stormlands, and Sansa needs to marry." Daenerys cocked her head to one side, and Jon glowered. Her plan made sense to him, yet he found the idea of Sansa entering a Lion's den repulsive.

"Which one?" he glanced at his wife, his Queen, and he could tell from her expression that he would not like her answer.

"Jaime. He is heir to Casterly Rock, and he is handsome."

_And a cripple_, Jon though morbidly. Though, at least the children would be fair to look upon, and of high birth, though Sansa didn't seem to care about those things as much anymore. He couldn't imagine how to ask Jaime- it was clear he and Brienne had a complicated relationship, to say the least. Also, the notion of Cersei's reaction made him sick

"What about Clegane? You were singing his praises as a suitor a few days ago." Daenerys' eyebrow arched as she threw her shoulders back. Jon was peeved that she was going to try and rule him like she did with the squabbling lords.

"Clegane is guarding our son."

"We have plenty more options for our son then for Sansa." Jon got a kick out of arguing with Daenerys- she was very attractive when she was angry.

However, Jon knew that he ought to pick and choose his battles, and that the cause for Sandor was gone. Jon also knew that Sandor had a few days before he would swear the oath that would end any chance for Sansa to be happy again.

**Sansa**

She tightened her jaw as her maids laced up her corset, and twisted her eyes shut to quell the discomfort. She had stayed in her chambers for an entire day after she had talked to Sandor, and was now being called to assist the Queen with Arya's wedding. It was to be a rushed affair, and Arya had asked for her help- but all Sansa wanted to do was cry.

Jon's words of her betrothal had been a knife in her gut, as much as Sandor's had been. She didn't understand why he wouldn't take her- she was his, had always been his, even after Joffrey, Tyrion, Dontos, Marillion, Petyr, Sweetrobin, Harry… she had always remained faithful to him, in her own way. She had kept the cloak, a bloody, smoky thing, and only dreamt of him. It had been empowering to know Sandor could rip Petyr apart, when Baelish kissed her.

Now, it was gone. Everything, swept under the rug, so that she could marry another Lannister. To be fair, Jaime had come to her room yesterday to ask her himself and had given her a golden lion pin, with ruby eyes which had belonged to his mother. For the most part, it had been painfully awkward, especially when he leaned in to hug her.

She had put the pin next to the one Sandor had let her keep- a dog with yellow eyes. She had found him cleaning out his pack, and asked why he was getting rid of the surprisingly delicate piece of jewelry. He had muttered darkly, and told her she could keep the wretched thing. She had wrapped it in the old Kingsguard cloak of his, beside her direwolf pin. She had traded her Hummingbird pin for two rooms at an inn when she and Clegane had been returning to Winterfell. She was happy to have rid herself of the dreadful thing, thinking it quite gauche in truth.

She turned her head when Arya bound into the chamber, carrying her Maid's cloak under her arm, and the Groom's cloak under the other. Since Gendry had been legitimized as a Baratheon and the betrothal announced, Arya had been smiling all the time, and Sansa had found the Excitement endearing to watch.

"Sansa, the cloaks are finished!" Arya exclaimed, delighted to see the concrete evidence that she and Gendry were marrying. Sansa smiled at her sister, who despite favouring breeches and swords, was clearly excited to be getting married.

"I can see that. Would you like to show me what they look like?" smiled Sansa, who bit back her tears as her younger sister tore away the packaging. Jeyne Poole had come in as well, eager to see the garments. Jeyne and Sansa lifted the soft, grey wool bundle out of its package, and draped it over Arya's shoulders as the youngest girl beamed.

Jeyne smoothed Arya's hair, as Sansa fastened the cloak.

"You look beautiful." Jeyne murmured, as she turned Arya towards the mirror. Sansa agreed, watching as Arya stared at her reflection. Arya turned to Jeyne, and twisted her lips while she was trying to word the question she had.

"When you married Theon in the Godswood, were you… scared?" Sansa tried to keep herself from smacking Arya, for it was known how much of a beast the Bolton bastard had been to poor Jeyne. To her credit, Jeyne smiled at Arya before answering.

"I wasn't, because I knew Theon would never hurt me like Reek did. Why do you ask?" the young woman smiled, and Arya blushed and muttered under her breath.

Sansa smiled, finding amusement in Arya's sudden shyness. She knew what Arya was really trying to ask, as Jeyne laid a hand on her slightly swollen stomach. Jeyne had married Theon in secret at Dreadfort, as she tried to keep him alive. Once, Sansa may have hated her for it- but now, as the White Walkers clawed at the Wall, she knew that everyone needed to unite.

Kevan Lannister had sent five thousand troops, Highgarden two thousand and Edmure Tully sent seven thousand. The north men numbered ten thousand, and the Night's Watch a mere thousand. The three dragons had greatly helped the effort to beat the Monsters, but they still came back in droves at the Wall. Sansa supposed she should be fearful, but she had never seen the creatures, though she had heard Jon mutter about them in his sleep.

Sansa pushed her dark thoughts aside, and tried to find joy in her sister's imminent wedding while ignoring her own.

"You will look beautiful in this silk." Sansa smiled, as Jeyne brought the dress over. Arya's eyes lit up, and Sansa smiled, since she had designed the dress. It was simple, and slim, lacking the layers that were usually worn under such skirts, which she knew Arya would hate. It was white with only a touch of grey, and had silver woven sporadically into the textile.

As Arya donned the dress, Sansa smiled, thinking about how happy everyone was. Everyone but herself.

**Jaime**

He walked with purpose down the hallway, and turned into Sandor Clegane's chamber. The huge man was in there and barely looked up to see who was there. He nodded in greeting to Jaime, who had come to discuss his betrothal to Sansa Stark.

"I trust you know of my engagement." Jaime analyzed Clegane's stoic expression, and couldn't find a reaction. _But just because you can't find something doesn't mean it isn't there_.

"I don't think there is anyone who doesn't know." Sandor was sharpening his sword, and Jaime didn't know if this was out of anxiety or out of malice.

"Why didn't you take her hand when it was offered?" asked Jaime, and Sandor stopped his quiet work. He looked up at Jaime, his eyes full of pain. Jaime briefly wondered if he had gone too far, but Sandor decided to talk anyway.

"I can't." Clegane looked down at his feet, and Jaime stepped forward hesitantly.

"I didn't come here to tell you I don't wish to marry- what one wants and what one has to do are often different. I came here to tell you that the prince will be coming to visit Casterly Rock, and his aunt, often. I only need an heir…" When Sandor realized where this conversation was going, his head snapped up to attention. _Like the Hound he is_.

"I won't fuck her, Jaime. I won't father any of her children. Besides, you and I don't look alike, do we?" snarled Clegane, and Jaime sighed.

"You do look like Eddard Stark, though."

"You are still forgetting that I said no." Clegane glared at Jaime, but Jaime soldiered on.

"Sandor, I know she doesn't love me. I know that I will never live up to the standard that you set. No one else knows how to make her happy. Your children will be in line to inherit the Rock. I only need the first two to be mine." Jaime looked down at the big man, as Clegane considered the offer.

"You would do all of this, for her?" asked the suspicious man, as Jaime felt grey eyes bore holes into him.

"I cuckholded Robert for his entire reign. I got my sister moon tea, because she hated him so much. She went as far as deliver a four moons old pregnancy, and I saw Robert's baby struggle to live. I saw his little lips quiver, his little body convulse. This isn't for you, or Sansa, half as much as it is for him. I don't want any child to go through that if I can help it. I am going to use your children to ensure the lives of my own." Jaime's eyes narrowed, and examined Clegane's wide eyes.

"She would never do that." He muttered, despite his nodding head.

"Women will do a lot to protect their favourite children's rights. Catelynn did it, Cersei did it, so Sansa is clearly capable of doing it. I just need to give her a reason to bear my children," snarled Jaime, surprising himself by how ferociously he was protecting future beings.

"She will love them all equally." Sandor commented, and Jaime started to laugh hoarsely.

"Once they have been born, yes. I just need to convince her to carry to term." Jaime smiled, and Sandor sighed in resignation.

"Daenerys will kill me."

"I plan on telling Jon of this compromise." Jaime nearly roared with laughter when he saw Sandor's stricken expression.

"You cannot be serious."

"I am. If anyone should ever find out, than we have someone who can reason with our lovely, hot- tempered Queen." Sandor looked up at Jaime, a question plain across his face.

"Ask me what you want." Jaime gazed down at him, wondering what more questions he had left to ask.

"Why are you doing this?" the grey eyes seemed to mist over a bit, and Jaime felt a small pang in his heart.

"She wants you, not me. Unlike Robert, or Jon Arryn, I am prepared to compromise." Jaime looked back at the scarred man, and bit his lip.

"You promise all the children will be protected?" the golden haired man nodded.

"Then… I agree." Sandor sighed, and Jaime smiled.

"I will see you at the wedding, then?" asked the knight, and both men chuckled.

**Author's Note:**

I am sorry the update took so long, but I originally had the plot go in one way, than I swerved it into a different direction. Anyways, the reviews were sincerely welcome, and thanks to everyone who has put this story in favourites/alerts- it means so much, and forces me to finish this up! Please, let me know how you feel about this development, the plot etc.

Remember, reviews are love.

Also, last chapter will be up in two weeks it has been a blast.


	6. Chapter 6

**Epilogue**

**Sansa**

She watched on as her children played in the gardens of Casterly Rock with their cousins. Her auburn haired Rickard jumped on the much older Robert Stark, a lanky boy with warm brown eyes and a charming smile. Robb's twin, Eddard, was playing swords with Arya's boy, Benjen. Jon's son Max, short for Meraxes, was hiding from Sansa's golden haired girl, Aoife, a precocious toddler with the grey eyes of Stark.

Jon's daughter Violet tottered towards Sansa, her clumsy gait endearing. Sansa loved being around the children, watching them play, innocent to the cruelties of the world. She held her newest babe in her arms- he was asleep, with a shock of dark hair atop his head. _He looks so much like him,_ she smiled.

This son had been the quietest of all her children so far, sleeping peacefully in the crib next to her and her Lord Husband's bed. She loved his little baby features, which reflected his father.

She looked down at Grey Wind, who was relaxing in the sun, his flank rising and falling calmly. The direwolf was silvering around the muzzle, random patches of white fur having grown where old wounds had healed.

She smiled as Aoife ran over to Grey Wind, and clambered up on to him. The little girl placed her head on his shoulder, and lay down. Grey Wind lifted his head lazily, clearly not caring about the tiny girl napping on him.

Sansa remembered when each of her children were born. She remembered when she bore her eldest, Rickard, and how he screamed as the Gods Ripped him from her body, how much he fought to stay inside, away from the world. She hadn't had that problem with Aoife, her little princess, who Rushed into the World, almost eager to spare her mother from pain. Edwyn, her youngest, had been somewhere in between those two experiences. _He was almost courteous_, she liked to think to herself, _waiting for Jeyne Poole to properly prepare for his birth, but quick enough to avoid straining me_.

Of course, she knew babies couldn't think like that- though, that wasn't going to stop her from romanticizing them. Her children were the few bright spots in her life- she felt complicated things of her husband, but he was kind enough to her. Jaime never hit her, or belittled her, or manipulated her. She was happy for those Mercies, but she felt they were ultimately Hollow.

Jaime never vented his frustrations to her, nor shared his insecurities. She dare not mention Cersei, or Brienne, for he would fall silent and distract himself with small, simple tasks. Sansa knew they looked perfect- beautiful children, beautiful castle, _beautiful_ everything.

Sansa cradled her son closer to her, cooing as the baby fell asleep. When Jaime held him for the first time he had recognized the man Edwyn had taken after. Jaime had smiled crookedly and told Sansa that Tywyn Lannister was rolling in his grave. Sansa thought that was morbid but Jaime didn't seem to mind.

Sansa looked over to the shady grove, where Sandor stood, guarding Meraxes. She was surprised when she didn't blush- it was as if nothing had been there. Which wasn't as scary as it had once sounded; Nothing didn't have to mean barren, or unlovable or void. Nothing was nothing, and nothing causes No Problems.

She had loved him, depended on him had yearned for any small piece of him. Then he rejected her but not completely. She had married, and moved across the country, which sometimes felt like the Universe to her. He had returned to the capital with her brother and Daenerys, to guard their young son, and later their daughter.

When Jaime had offered her his compromise, she hit him. Which she promptly apologized for as he rubbed his jaw. _No, no it's alright,_ he had muttered, _You aren't Cersei, I shouldn't have expected you to like this idea. _He had been right, he should have thought she was like Cersei, or, after he had explained himself further, like Catelyn.

She had been disgusted at first- she knew she would love her children, when she first realized from Joffrey that she would have no choice in whom the father would be. Further, she wouldn't hurt any of them, and if her husband came with children, So Be It.

Sansa sat in her small reverie, clutching her babe, when Sandor sauntered over to her side. She hadn't spoken to him in years, but for whatever reason, spoke then.

"Why did you even bother saying no?" she looked at him, as he pretended to squint his eyes in the sunlight.

"Little Bird, if I explained every stupid decision I have made in my life to you, you would need to live for as long as the Stranger himself." He eventually answered, and she was surprised to hear regret in his voice.

"When Jaime told me, I hit him." She said, as Rickard jumped onto Robb's shoulders. Sandor chuckled, and Sansa knew it was the image.

"I wondered how that conversation had gone." Sansa briefly wondered if she had hurt him like he had hurt her, but shut that little thought Away.

"Did you really think I would crawl into your bed?" she asked quietly, so that no one would hear them.

"I didn't know- you were in a rough place." Sansa looked up at him, biting her lip.

"Did you ever… Hope I would?" He sighed heavily, and Sansa could sense that this was a question he didn't wish to answer.

"Yes. I hoped, but more than that, I hoped you would talk to me again." He looked out onto the garden, and Sansa sensed his hurt, and held her baby closer.

"Jaime is good to me," she defended her husband quietly, though he hadn't been mentioned.

"I know he is. Who do you think wrote to me about your children, as if trying to redeem himself for marrying the one girl I ever loved?" he laughed at the end, not because he was amused, but to cover up the Hole she knew was inside.

"Have you threatened him?" she was horrified as her mind when through all the horrid things Clegane could possibly have written in response.

"Maybe. After all, I am troubled." She scowled at his sudden acidic tone- he didn't need to be so mean.

She quietly excused herself, holding Edwyn close to her chest- and walked back to the castle. She left Sandor alone with the nursemaids, as Grey Wind rose and softly padded after her.

**Sandor**

He hadn't meant to be so cruel to Sansa- he hadn't expected those feelings to Surface, let alone be Made Known.

He just hated being cut off from her- Sansa ignoring him at court, Sansa ignoring him on all occasions, Sansa ignoring him _and_ kissing her husband. Sansa ignoring him in every which way, hurting him a million times over.

Even Arya would acknowledge him, though the strain of concealing her contempt was clear. Sometimes, late at night when he was alone and vulnerable, he thought about Little Bird. Though it had been awhile since that had happened, it still hurt to think about it.

He thought of how she didn't have to ignore him, or flaunt her happiness in his face. He would muse about her children growing up to realize what their father had done- that their cousins were their bastard siblings, born from incest. He didn't like to admit how happy that made him feel.

When he watched her walk off, clutching her youngest pup, he had been tempted to follow her and apologize. Until he wondered what he even needed that for- what could she say that would make the memory of the past decade remotely bearable for him?

He bit his inner cheek, and turned to his young charge, Max. He marvelled at how happy the boy was- running around, playing and smiling. _Was I like that?_ Sandor asked himself. He couldn't remember before the burns, or the Anger.

Max had come up to him then, smiling, holding a small white flower. Sandor suspected it was probably a weed from the gardens, but took the flower with a small smile. Max didn't fear the big man or his twisted smiles: he chuckled lightly and skipped off to rejoin his older cousin Robb.

Sandor held the tiny flower, and continued to smile. It was moments like that which filled the Hole inside, inch by inch, until maybe one day, it would be filled in.

One day, he would teach Meraxes how to fight and ride alongside his cousins. Meraxes would grow up to protect Westeros- from the Others, from Invaders, from Itself. He would wear plain purple armour (Max had decided that), and fly high in the sky.

Sandor didn't know when he started to idealize so much, but he found an odd kind of comfort in it, like it was a safe place to hide in a big, scary world. Clegane figured it probably signalled his descent into old age, but could find no real harm in it. So he continued to imagine.

Robb and Ned would ride under Stark banners, Strong and Dark like their grandfather and father. Perhaps Tommen and Robert Arryn would join them, under the Lion and Falcon. Benjen, who had inherited his namesake's features, would fight under the Stag, tall and strong like his forebears. Violet would probably marry into the Tyrell family, and Aoife would probably have to do the same to placate the proud family.

Sansa's sons would fight too- under the Lion, and probably better then Tommen (though the sweet boy was to his credit, much nicer than most children). Rickard looked like The Young Wolf, and Edwyn looked like a cross between Ned Stark and Jaime Lannister. _I wonder whether it is Ned or Tywin who is more horrified?_ Sandor amused himself with the idea. Edwyin's face reflected a coarser Jaime, or a more refined Ned. Sandor knew Sansa liked the resemblance, and smiled for her.

At least he had fulfilled that promise- that he would make sure she had the life she deserved. She was now living from a song, married to the Lion of Lannister and bearing his babes. She had a beautiful coastal castle, with three beautiful children. She seemed happy too, judging by how she glowed when she was with her children. _She could light up a room any day, though._

Sandor looked out at the children, wondering how long he would be on the West coast. Reports had Ramsay in Slaver's Bay, trying to rally Daenrys' enemies to his cause, or a Dothraki horde. If he should succeed to rouse an army, they would have little time to react.

This little family reunion had been a cover for meetings about how to deal with the Bastard- either hunt him down across the Narrow Sea, or wait for him to come to them. Until the problem of Ramsay was solved, the children were going to be kept as far West as possible. However, should Ramsay make it to the Rock, Sandor would need to take the children to Safety- where ever that was.

Theon and Jon Stark wanted blood for the North, volunteering to hunt Ramsay personally. The Stag opposed them, as well as the Kraken girl. Daenerys was unsure of how to proceed, as well as Jaime and Arianne. Sandor could feel the tension of the meetings everywhere- it was a haze which surrounded them all.

It was tension such as this that led to War. Westeros had stumbled out of a series of wars, still oozing blood. They were barely prepared to defend the Realm, let alone go hunt in dangerous lands for dangerous prey.

He shook his head, banishing such bleak thoughts, and strode over to attend Max's scraped knee.

**Jaime**

He had been sitting in his study, when Sansa peeped in. Jaime studied her as she walked in, holding their youngest son in her arms. He noticed she looked a little flushed, but that was to be expected. His study overlooked the gardens, and he had watched her conversation with Clegane. He didn't know if they still talked, and tried to shove away his wariness of the exchange. _You are compassionate, remember?_ He told himself.

"Jaime," she smiled delicately, as she perched primly on the chair across from him. He smiled calmly, masking what he was feeling underneath, like he always did with her.

"Sansa, how have you been today?" he often surprised himself at how easy it was to be nice to her, instead of the sarcasm he reserved for everyone else. It was even easier with his children, especially the younger ones. He gestured to hold his son, and Sansa obliged.

"I had a lovely conversation with Myrcella at breakfast, and then Arya and the two Jeynes went with me on a short ride. After, I went to see the children in the gardens." Jaime knew they were a perfect match for each other when he had realized how aloof they both were. Jaime smiled at Edwyn, and look at Sansa.

"I wonder if we will ever have a son which just looks like us. It's like we are bearing all the male members of your family again." He smiled as he softly rocked his son, his babe, one of the few things he had gotten right. All his children, except Joff, were on that short list, even though he still loved Joffrey.

Sansa stiffened momentarily, until she realized he was joking. Jaime knew she didn't like talking about Ned or Robb, but he thought that was fair- he didn't like to talk about Cersei or Brienne or Tywin, why would he hold a grudge against her?

"Aoife looks like us." She replied, and Jaime nodded in agreement as Edwyn snuggled deeper into his arms. Jaime loved, hard as it was to believe. He would cut down the world for his living children. He would cut down the world for his wife, too, though he had never shared that with her.

"Sansa, you know…" he trailed off, and she looked at him, smiling. Like his mother had to his father.

"What do I know, Jaime?" she smiled delicately.

"You know that I love our family, that I love… " He felt his mask slipping, with his child in his arms and his wife across from him. Sansa smiled a little broader, as if urging him to go on.

"I just love, well, us. "Jaime promptly looked at the baby, trying to avoid Sansa's gaze as it looked beyond his mask.

Sansa smiled, and moved to perch on the arm of his chair. She sat primly, and placed her hand on his shoulder.

"I love us, too." Jaime smiled, and felt her hand playing with the golden curls on the back of his neck. He never shared much with her, so those few words were a leap in and of themselves.

Jaime felt content, and for once, all the Bad left him. He knew that beheading Cersei, releasing Tyrion and killing the Freys and most of Boltons was for the best- he now had all he had wanted.

He thought of his sons, and daughter. His strong, brave sons, and his beautiful daughter. Myrcella had visited from Dorne, where she had been married a year ago, and Tommen declared he wanted to become a maester this morning, after Aoife had sat with Jaime in the study. Jaime wondered who Rickard would fall in love with- would he risk all for her? Would he fall fast and hard, or slow and steady until he woke up beside her one day and realized how much he felt for the girl. Jaime had felt both, both were terrifying and exhilarating and everything and all.

Would Edwyn love as well? Or would he forsake all to join the Wall or the King (or Queen)? Would he have to join his brother and cousins in war? Would the Starks, Tullys, Arryns, Baratheons, Lannisters, Targaryens and Martells have to use their marital alliance to smash apart another enemy? Would his boys, and girls, bleed in another battle?

Jaime snarled at the thought, and Sansa stopped what she was doing.

"What's wrong?" She asked quietly, and Jaime looked up at her.

"I was thinking about I will do if Ramsay Snow tried to cross the Narrow Sea with an army." The topic was of great importance, as Varys had reported that Ramsay was attempting to do just that in Slaver's Bay, as well as rouse the Dothraki. Jon and Theon had wanted blood for Winterfell and its dead inhabitants, but no one else was ready to plunge into another war- most advocated for strengthening the Crown's naval power, and sealing a pact with the Greyjoys. Theon and Jon had been furious as Gendry and Arya agreed with the alternative to battle. Daenerys had to take Jon aside, as Jeyne did with Theon. Tyrion asked Jaime which side the Lion should align itself with and Jaime had no answer.

Now, Jaime sensed Sansa's veil slipping- he could feel it in her touch.

"What do you propose I do? Support Jon and Theon's bid to hunt him down, or strengthen Westerosi defenses?" _Please, choose for me._

Sansa drew herself to her full height, and her eyes turned to ice. Edwyn had fallen asleep, blissfully ignorant of Everything.

"When he tries to come back across the Narrow Sea, let him come- destroy his army, and bring him back to King's Landing, and execute him as traitor." Her voice was cold and uncaring, as she continued, "Or give him to the Others."

Jaime grimaced again, and said, "I won't let him. I'll kill him before he comes near our children." Sansa laughed darkly, which surprised Jaime.

"Jaime, Ramsay is powerless in Westeros- who would challenge us? Daenerys is allied by marriage to six powerful houses, and others by friendship. Ramsay would have to cut a path from King's Landing to Casterly Rock through the lands of Lords who hate him. I want to see the man who burned down Winterfell, who tortured Jeyne and claimed the North, die scared, and alone, fully conscious of what is about to happen to him before Ice comes down upon him." Sansa looked down at Jaime tenderly, "And you will have to get in line behind Jon and Theon for the honour."

Jaime was slightly unnerved by how calmly she had talked of killing a man, until he remembered what Ramsay had done. They looked at each other, knowing what the Lion would say to the council of Houses.

Jaime held his little wolf lion boy closer, as Sansa rose to greet Rickard and Aoife, who had burst in to greet their parents. Rickard bounded onto his lap, when Tyrion walked into the study.

"Hello, dear brother and sister." The Imp grinned. He had reacted very well to Jaime and Sansa's marriage, all things considering. He was now Hand of the Queen, had seen Cersei die and had found Tysha. He was quite happy, and doted on his nephews and nieces.

"Tyrion," Jaime smiled, as Sansa quietly curtsied and excused herself to take Aoife to her chamber for a story.

"I never thought I would see the Lion of Lannister become a tame tabby cat." Tyrion waddled over to where the wineskin was, and helped himself.

"I never thought I would either." Rickard was angling to look at Edwyn, and Jaime was trying to balance both boys.

"Well, although I love your children, I came here to talk about what you will say to Daenerys." Tyrion hopped onto the chair across from Jaime, and made a face at Rickard. The auburn haired boy laughed, and Tyrion grinned before sipping his wine.

"Sansa thinks we should execute." Jaime stated ignoring Rickard's scrambling on his lap. Tyrion raised his eyebrows, before he spoke.

"Well, looks like the Wolf rules the Lion after all." Jaime rolled his eyes at the sardonic comment.

"Well, do you disagree that it would be wiser to wait for him to come to us?" Jaime countered, knowing already that Tyrion agreed.

"Well, you thought dragons were bad- bastards are worse." Tyrion muttered as he took another sip. Jaime remembered a poem from his youth, he had forgotten where or who had taught it to him, yet he spoke the last few lines.

"This is the way the world ends, with not a bang but a whimper." Jaime moodily said, as Rickard clambered off to see where his mother had gone.

"That will certainly happen if we give chase."

"Theon and Jon are the only ones who wish to." Jaime said, looking out his window.

"Them and the rest of the North." Tyrion looked up ruefully.

Jaime felt Edwyn's weight against his chest, as his heart beat faster. _This is the way world ends, with not a bang but a whimper._

**Author's Note:**

That's it folks! This story was originally about Sandor and Sansa, but grew to encompass a lot more. I was originally going to pair them up in the end, but it felt kind of strange :S so I compromised a little bit. I think I might continue in a Theon/Jon alliance fic.. mm let me know if you are interested. I will probably revisit these characters fairly soon, write myself a happy SanSan ending

I have left the end open to a sequel… mayhaps some people are interested?

Reviews are love, requests are great too.

Credit is due to the lovely GRR Martin, T.S Eliot's Hollow Men (Jaime's poem) and various musical artists I listened to along the way.

Thank you to faithful readers, reviewers and subscribers.


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